


Fuck My Life

by Zauzat



Series: Fuck My Life [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zauzat/pseuds/Zauzat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanks to Jim, Leonard inadvertently sends some dirty texts to the Surgeon General. Who shares them with Admiral Pike. It's all downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck My Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is an expanded version of a fill written for the [Fuck My Life Flash Fill Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/361536.html), to an inspired prompt from weepingnaiad.

Leonard gazes at the instructor with glazed eyes. Honestly, he knows he needs to cram all this stuff in. It wasn’t as if he’d expected to become a CMO the minute he left the Academy, but it’s enough already. He glances around. M’Benga looks as exhausted as he feels. Chapel is trying to looks focused but he suspects she’s asleep with her eyes open. A handful of other students are nodding where they sit. His guess is that the instructor is over-compensating, as if trying to stuff their heads with this shit at the very last minute will bring back a single one of the many dead.

The last few weeks have been very strange. The loss of Vulcan is too enormous to contemplate but the loss of so many cadets and instructors is heartbreakingly tangible. Yet inextricably mixed in with the pain is the somewhat hysterical joy at having survived, at having saved so many more through their actions, and at having been so precipitously promoted to such prestigious positions. No one is acting anything like their normal selves.

The instructor has turned back to the white-screen. Leonard grabs his comm and without even looking at it, pulls up Jim’s name on priority dial.

[[Sugar, this is bad! Distract me before I fall asleep.]]

It still gives him a thrill to be able to send such comms to Jim. They’d manfully ignored their UST right through the Academy, Leonard thinking Jim too much of a flirt to settle for one man, Jim thinking Leonard too hurt by his divorce to contemplate love again. It had taken the trauma on the _Enterprise_ for Leonard to grab Jim in a tight hug and hold him as if he’d never let go again, for Jim to tilt his face up and take that first kiss as it is was the start of a whole new cycle of life. They’ve been hanging onto each other ever since.

The answer doesn’t take long to come.

[[What kind of distraction do you have in mind?]]

It is unusual for Jim to text in full sentences but Leonard is too tired to think it through. He wants to be back in bed, curled up around Jim’s naked body, falling asleep in the warmth and security of the other man’s arms.

[[Talk dirty to me, darling. I’m losing the will to live here. Tell me what you want to do to me.]]

Again a quick reply. Whatever Jim is doing, he must be bored too.

[[Mostly I want to put you over my knee and spank you.]]

Leonard boggles. If he has one complaint about his new relationship, one very small complaint, it’s that it’s all a little vanilla. He’d expected the great Jim Kirk, _conquistador_ of so many sentient beings, to be a bit more kinky. He suspects Jim may be playing it safe, assuming the good boy who married his high-school sweetheart will be shocked by anything too off the wall. He suspects Jim would be surprised to know just what a kinky little thing Jocelyn had been. The trouble is that Leonard is not good at asking for what he wants, not face-to-face. It’s easier just to go with the flow. So this idea is sending a hot rush of pleasure straight to his groin.

[[Seriously? I can be persuaded. Tell me more.]]

Another quick reply.

[[I’d bend you over my knee, pull down those tight cadet reds over your ample ass and apply my hand to your tight cheeks until they’re as rosy as a peach.]]

Leonard swallows hard. It’s not just what Jim has to say, it’s the way he’s saying it, with a kind of cool authority that’s sending all Leonard’s blood spiraling to his groin. There is no ‘dude’, no text-speak, just the voice of a commander laying out how it’s going to be.  
[[Oh god Jim… and then?]]

[[I’ve always thought you needed a good reaming out. So next would be three slick fingers shoved straight into your aching ass. But we’d need to find a way to plug up that pouty mouth of yours, you talk back way too much.]]

Cocky ass, thinks Leonard, feeling a little affronted. He’d thought Jim liked the way he talked in bed.

[[Oh yeah? And how are you planning to do that?]]

It takes a little longer for the answer to come this time.

[[Another man’s cock would do the trick. I’d like to see you plugged up solid at both ends.]]

Okay, this is way beyond the bounds of the kind of kinky Leonard had expected from Jim. He wants a threesome? Leonard thinks that he really should be horrified but instead he’s achingly hard, having to surreptitiously adjust himself under the desk. A quick glance tells him the instructor is mid-way through the official treatment protocols for all the Federation races. He’s going to be ages yet.

[[How long have you wanted to do that?]] asks Leonard.

[[Pretty much from the first time I met you and you opened that insubordinate mouth of yours.]]

Insubordinate? That’s a big word for a kid who was a cadet just a few weeks ago, busy cheating his way through the _Kobayashi Maru_.

[[This captain thing going to your head, is it?]] types Leonard.

He may not fully approve but he can’t help but respond to the authoritative tone. His fingers are just a little shaky and he keeps hitting the wrong keys.

[[You figure now you’re my CO you can do what you want with me?]]

[[That is one of the advantages of the chain of command.]]

Leonard stares at the message. Finally something that’s been worrying away in the back of his mind pushes through the haze of exhaustion and lust. Jim just doesn’t write like this. Something is wrong.

He flicks quickly through his contacts list. Some of the numbers he knows by heart and those quickly tell him that someone - Jim, it has to be, it’s always Jim - has randomly renamed all his contacts. He can tell that the number he’s been comming is Starfleet, but he doesn’t know who it is. He stares at the screen in horror. It really doesn’t sound like a fellow cadet.

He’s got to do something. The comms have his name on them. He can’t pretend this hasn’t happened.

[[OK, so I’ve just realized that you’re not Jim and this was probably highly inappropriate and I’M REALLY SORRY. Who are you?]]

He sends it off and waits in an agony of suspense. When the reply pings in, he can hardly bear to open it.

[[Damn, you rumbled it. You’ve been keeping Chris and I amused through the world’s most boring Federation briefing meeting. It’s been fun. Shall I let Jim know you’re up for the spanking thing? Phil.]]

Phil? As in Admiral Philip Boyce, Surgeon-General. Chris? As in Doctor Boyce’s best friend and (according the campus scuttle-butt) maybe something more, Admiral Christopher Pike. Oh fuck no!

He and Jim have been so careful to keep their relationship discreet and now he’s blown it open in the most blatant way possible. And he now knows far more than he’s ever wanted to about Boyce’s tastes in kink. And Pike’s, for that matter.

Jim Kirk may have survived the Battle of Vulcan and the battle for Earth. He may be Earth’s favorite hero right now. But sometimes, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. The kid is so dead, thinks Leonard.

* * *

“Damn, Bones, that was way awesome. Why didn’t you tell me you liked the kinky shit?”

There had indeed been spanking - firm, efficient, prolonged spanking, followed by a thorough reaming out of the lobster-red ass. But Jim, for his sins, had been at the receiving end of it. It might have been a more effective punishment if he hadn’t seemed to enjoy it so much.

Leonard’s hand is aching and his prick is pleasantly chafed from fucking with too little prep and he is exquisitely fucked-out and all he wants to do is sleep. But Jim, the annoying bastard, wants to chat.

“So the Admirals are dirty-minded old men, are they? Gorgeous though, both of them, don’t you think. Silver foxes of the hottest kind.”

Leonard grunts. Much as he would like never to think of Boyce or Pike again, let alone have to meet them and look them in the eye, he has to admit that Jim is right.

“And they’ve got a point, y’know. You would look really pretty plugged up at both ends. D’you think they’d be up for a foursome? I could direct!”

Leonard snaps awake. “Jim? Jim, no!” Jim has grabbed Leonard’s comm and is retreating across the room with it. “Why don’t I ask them, Bones. Just a quick text. Seeing as you’ve opened up the line of communication, so to speak.”

Leonard is scrabbling across the bed, trying to get at the comm but his co-ordination is off and his legs are tangled up in the sheets. Jim dances away from him, and Leonard hears the ping of _message sent_.

No, oh fuck no, he thinks. When he’d wanted kinkier, he’d not been thinking on quite this scale. Fuck Jim, he thinks. Fuck the Admirals. Fuck my life.


	2. The Admirals' take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what do bored Admirals get up to in meetings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for megan_moonlight who wanted the Admirals' POV. And inspired by various of the lovely comments the first fic received.
> 
> For those who don't play in this obscure corner of fandom, AOS Phil Boyce is fancast as Mark Harmon. [Tasty pix here.](http://imachar.livejournal.com/8497.html)  
> And the idea of calling Chris _Chrissie_ is taken from anruiukimi's gorgeous Western Skies series. (Jim wing fic, Kirk/McCoy, with Pike/Archer UST. Just lovely.)

[[At least pretend to look interested! :) ]]

Phil sends the text surreptitiously under table. Chris glances down at his lap, then rolls his eyes at Phil, who is seated across from him.

[[If I’d known being an Admiral would be this boring, I’d have damned well stayed with Nero!!!]]

“Don’t say that!” Phil mouths at him across the table. He types rapidly: [[Don’t say it, don’t think it. You fucking bastard!]]

Chris read quickly and then looks back up, giving Phil a small shrug. Phil looks away, trying not to remember his first viewing of the awful slug that Dr McCoy had dug out of Chris’s spinal cord and then preserved for further study. That slug haunts his nightmares. The contents of Chris’s nightmares are more than he can bear to imagine.

A new text arrives. [[Sorry. I’m all over the place, you know that. You’ve no idea how glad I am that you’re here. Just how long can these fuckers ramble on for?]]

Phil glances up to where the ambassador from Andoria is barely getting into her stride. Yet another round of the ambassadors of the Federation planets berating Starfleet for not foreseeing the disaster. Yet another round of them demanding action to stabilize the political situation while simultaneously demanding that Starfleet stay out of it. He knows that much of this is simply the verbalizing of stress and fear but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant to sit through.

Another text arrives. [[Sugar, this is bad! Distract me before I fall asleep.]]

Phil stares at it. Chris never calls him _sugar_. They’ve known each other for nearly 30 years and been fuck-buddies for nearly as long. Nothing serious - neither their careers nor their temperaments have allowed for that. But when one was getting over the end of a love affair, whether they’d left or been left, they went looking for the other. When one was tired or stressed or fearful, the one person they trusted with their secrets was the other.

When the news of the destruction of Vulcan had come through to Starfleet, Chris’s was the name that was screaming in the back of Phil’s head as he prepared the emergency medical response, a response that largely went unneeded because they were all dead already. When he’d finally got onto the _Enterprise_ to collect the injured, it had been Chris’s bed he'd gone straight to, despite the presence of the high-ranking Vulcans. When he couldn’t bear to think of all the vaporized corpses, it had been Chris’s mobility he’d fought to save, determined that one thing would be rescued from this cluster-fuck.

A quick look tells him that the text comes from _Dr Leonard H. McCoy (Lieutenant-Commander)_. It must be misdirected. He hesitates no more than a moment before typing back: [[What kind of distraction do you have in mind?]] He sends a blind copy on to Chris.

Chris is waggling his eyebrows at him across the table when the next text comes in. [[Talk dirty to me, darling. I’m losing the will to live here. Tell me what you want to do to me.]]

Phil is choking as he tries to suppress his laughter. [[Tell me!!!]] comes from Chris, as Phil quickly types a reply. His response to the question needs no thought. McCoy may be brilliant, and hard-working, but he can also argue with a fence post, and be damn insolent in the process. A fair number of the headaches of his first years as Surgeon-General were caused by one Cadet L.H. McCoy.

[[Mostly I want to put you over my knee and spank you.]] Again he copies it blind to Chris.

Chris is visibly biting down on the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. [[He’s not seriously sending these to you, is he? You dirty dog! Since when are you doing cadets?]]

[[I’m sure he’s got the wrong comm number. I assume (hope!) these are meant for Jim.]] Leonard and Jim’s affair is the kind of secret where the only people who still think it a secret are the two men themselves. Both Chris and Phil had noticed the number of times that the acting captain had disappeared into the office of the acting CMO in need of ‘medical treatment’ that seemed to consist of a whole lot of kissing and frotting. No one had been about to object. Both men were superb under pressure and everyone did what it took to survive.

The next text comes in from McCoy. [[Seriously? I can be persuaded. Tell me more.]]

Kinky little shit, thinks Phil with a smile. Another quick reply: [[I’d bend you over my knee, pull down those tight cadet reds over your ample ass and apply my hand to your tight cheeks until they’re as rosy as a peach.]]

As soon as Chris receives the two new texts, he goes into a prolonged coughing fit that ends up with him being hammered on the back by Admiral Komack. He has barely recovered by the time the next set of texts sets him off again.

[[Oh god Jim… and then?]]

[[I’ve always thought you needed a good reaming out. So next would be three slick fingers shoved straight into your aching ass. But we’d need to find a way to plug up that pouty mouth of yours, you talk back way too much.]]

Phil has to take a moment to surreptitiously wipe away the tears of laughter from his own eyes. In all honesty, he’s doing this as much to cheer up Chris as to tease McCoy. Chris is coping remarkably well with his physical injuries and the loss of the _Enterprise_. So well, in fact, that Phil is reasonably sure the whole thing is a façade that may come tumbling down at any moment.

“Perhaps we should take a coffee break,” says Komack. “Admiral Pike seems to need a minute.” Everyone else at the table is up on their feet with a collective sigh of relief before the Andorian ambassador has even offered a reply. Normally Chris hates having his weakness pointed out in any way but right now he too is glad of an excuse to get out of the conference room.

Chris leans heavily on a crutch with one hand, while pulling Phil into a quiet corridor with the other. “You’re going to kill me, here. Since when are you such a rule-breaker?” Phil shrugs. He’s lost so many friends and colleagues in the Battle of Vulcan. He’s going to do whatever it takes to improve the lives of those who remain.

“So what shall we tell him?” He shows Chris McCoy’s latest reply: [[Oh yeah? And how are you planning to do that?]]

“How are we planning to shut him up, you mean?” says Chris. He gives Phil the slow, sinful smile that always sends the blood spiraling down to Phil’s groin, the smile that promises delicious wickedness in Phil’s immediate future. “We’ll just have to share him, won’t we?”

Phil holds Chris’s gaze as he types by touch alone. It’s a dare from Chris but he’s not going to back down. Before the advent of the Narada both of them would have been much more circumspect than this, thinking of their careers and reputations. Now all Phil can think of is that Chris is still alive to flirt with him. He holds up the screen to show Chris his answer.

[[Another man’s cock would do the trick. I’d like to see you plugged up solid at both ends.]]

Chris pulls him close, a broad hand wrapped firmly around his neck, and whispers hotly in his ear: “Fucking tease, you’ve got to know who I’d really like to plug solid.”

They look down when the reply arrives.

[[How long have you wanted to do that?]]

Phil types in the answer as he watches Chris. [[Pretty much from the first time I met you and you opened that insubordinate mouth of yours.]] He means it about McCoy but the answer is really for Chris, who he’d first met as a cocky cadet, too beautiful for his own good, blinding in his brilliance, but still self-aware enough to laugh at his own ambition.

[[This captain thing going to your head, is it? You figure now you’re my CO you can do what you want with me?]]

Phil grins. Again his answer is really for Chris. [[That is one of the advantages of the chain of command.]] They’d had some fun when Boyce was first promoted to Admiral and Chris was still a captain, including memorably fucking Chris across his new office desk while in full dress uniform. Chris is again choking with laughter and it lightens Phil’s heart to see it.

It takes some time for McCoy’s next message to arrive, but the two men don’t notice, too caught up in a sensual exploration of each other’s mouths. As younger men, they’d done a lot of fast athletic fucking but since the Narada Phil wants to take it slower, wants to enjoy the chance to indulge in languid exploration. At first Chris had resisted, afraid Phil was treating him like glass because of his injuries. But Phil thinks he’s beginning to understand now; he’s allowing himself to ground his fears in Phil’s solid steady presence.

At last another message arrives. [[OK, so I’ve just realized that you’re not Jim and this was probably highly inappropriate and I’M REALLY SORRY. Who are you?]]

“Tell him it’s Admiral Komack,” offers Chris.

“No, you bastard. Kirk wouldn’t give a shit but McCoy’s the type to be in agonies of embarrassment over this.” Phil types quickly. [[Damn, you rumbled it. You’ve been keeping Chris and I amused through the world’s most boring Federation briefing meeting. It’s been fun.]] He hesitates and then, just to see Chris’s beautiful blue eyes crinkle with laughter once more, he adds: [[Shall I let Jim know you’re up for the spanking thing? Phil.]]

“Gentlemen, perhaps you’d care to return to the meeting?” Komack is standing at the corner of the corridor, carefully not noticing that they are standing far too close together and Chris’s uniform jacket is still rucked up from where Phil grabbed it while kissing him. When the primmest stuffed shirt in the Admiralty can’t bring himself to lecture them about behavior unbefitting to Admirals, you know the world has changed for good, thinks Phil.

* * *

“God, Chrissie, you are just the best!” Phil runs his hand gently through Chris’s thick grey hair, conveniently close to hand as the man is lying with his head on Phil’s chest. Both of them are limp and relaxed in the aftermath of great sex.

Chris wrinkles his nose at this. He has always hated being called Chrissie. Once Phil worked this out, he had regularly used the name whenever he was really annoyed with the other man. Over the thirty years of their acquaintance he has been annoyed fairly often. But now the meaning has shifted. It changed one night soon after Chris was brought back to Earth, when Phil woke him from shaking nightmares, giving up his Admiral’s dignity to climb onto Chris’s narrow biobed and pull the trembling man against his own chest.

Chris had told him then a little of what had happened on the Narada. “He showed me the footage of Vulcan being destroyed but it was just unreal,” Chris had said. Phil had known what he meant. He’s seen the footage countless times now and although he understands intellectually what happened, emotionally it still feels little different from watching an over-dramatic holovid.

“He told me he was about to do that to Earth and this time I was going to get to watch it live. Even that I couldn’t comprehend. All I could think was that he was going to destroy you, you and everyone you loved. I was telling a god I don’t believe in that if I could just see you one more time you could call me Chrissie whenever and wherever you liked. Of all the stupid, _stupid_ things to promise…” Phil had held him silently while he shook with suppressed tears. Since then, every time he says _Chrissie_ , they both know what it means. It is a prayer of gratitude, every single time.

They are slipping into sleep when Phil’s comm chimes. “If that is another emergency meeting, I’m resigning on the spot,” growls Phil. It is Chris who leans over and opens up the unit. He snorts with laughter. “Listen to this,” he says. “U guys up 4 a 4some? Im available 4 plugging, Jim 2 direct. It’s from McCoy.”

“No, it’s not,” says Phil. “He doesn’t talk like that. That’s from Kirk.”

“He wants to direct?” exclaims Chris. “He’s been a captain for five whole minutes and he thinks he can run the universe. When has he _ever_ actually been in control?”

“He’s delusional if he thinks he'd be in charge,” says Phil “We’d own the scenario with our decades of experience.” He is caught by the animation on Chris’s face. Too often these days Chris just looks bone-tired and depressed.

“Cocky little shit could do with being taught a lesson. He took my ship, the bastard,” says Chris.

“You know you and I fought like devils to get him that ship, with McCoy as his CMO,” protests Phil.

“So? He still took my ship. And I’ve a thing or two to say to McCoy about smuggling grounded cadets onto _my_ vessel!”

Phil reaches over and takes the unit from Chris. “So are we going to say yes?” The two men look at each other. Before the world changed forever they’d not have done this. They’d have played it safe, kept on eye on their future careers. But this new world is not safe and there are no guarantees.

Still watching Chris, Phil types: [[Tomorrow. My place. 2100. Be clean. Be sober. Boyce.]] He hits send.

“Do you think they’ll actually turn up?” says Chris.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”


	3. Protocol for an Orgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So how do you prepare for an orgy with your commanding officers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have stolen some great lines from the previous comments (and saved some for the next episode). Thanks to all of you for providing inspiration.
> 
> It is not betaed so if the boys sometimes sound a little British, let's put that down to the pan-Earth culture of the 2200s.

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, Jim, and you’ve had some doozies. I swear, if your brains were dynamite, you couldn’t blow your nose. But of all your stupid ideas, this takes the fucking cake.”

“As long as it’s chocolate cake, it’s all good, Bones. Will you stop being such a worry-wart?”

“Why shouldn’t I fucking well worry. We’re apparently here to have kinky sex with our commanding officers. How can this not be a galactic-sized disaster?”

A window opens in the apartment block outside which the two men are standing.

“Will you two stop loitering! You’ll give the building a bad name. Now get up here.” They both automatically snap to attention in response to the voice of the Surgeon-General.

As Jim pushes open the door to the apartment, Leonard hisses to him: “You can put it on my tombstone when this all goes horribly wrong. I told you this was a bad idea!”

Both men are casually, but carefully, dressed - Leonard in khaki chinos and a white button-down shirt, Jim in blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Leonard might have thought Jim was totally cool about the whole thing if the man hadn’t spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom fussing with his hair. Leonard had given up on his long before, letting the thick dark cowlicks fall where they will.

The two Admirals are leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping wine, both still wearing their uniforms. That official status adds an edge to the occasion that Leonard wasn’t anticipating. He wonders what on earth the protocol is for an orgy. Do you just strip off your clothes at the door and drop to your knees? Do you accept a glass of wine and make small-talk about the weather? And if so, for how long? His momma brought him up right, brought him up to mind his pleases and thank yous, brought him up to call anyone who might be even 15 minutes older than himself sir and ma’am. Sadly, her lessons in etiquette seemed to have missed that crucial conundrum of how to behave when about to be screwed at both ends by two of your superiors.

Jim seems to have no qualms about cutting to the heart of the matter. “So, we’re a foursome that could sear retinas in every quadrant of every universe ever. How’s it gonna go? I was thinking that Bones here would look very pretty on his hands and knees--“

Chris interrupts. “You were thinking? How novel. Don’t overstrain yourself.”

Phil turns to Leonard. “Did you give the spanking thing a try?”

Leonard, suddenly determined to get his own back on Jim, replies: “Yeah, I battered Jim’s ass rosy red for changing the names on all my contacts.”

Phil laughs. “And how did that work out? Trying to punish Jim Kirk with sex is like shovelling the tide, I suspect.”

“Hey, now,” protests Jim. “I’ll have you know that I’m awesome in all positions. I had a girl say to me once--“ and Jim is off and running with stories of his past conquests, starting with one involving two Orion girls and a motorbike.

Leonard casts him a sharp glance. Jim is always chatty but Leonard has come to notice that he talks even more when he’s nervous. He works on the principle that if his attempts to blind with brilliance are failing, then he should baffle with bullshit. And it sometimes works. Leonard’s seen more than one instructor let the young man get away with outrageous behavior because they’ve been overwhelmed by a tsunami of Jim-talk. He’s also seen it fail, where Jim has just continued to dig down into the ever-deepening hole he’s already standing in. It seems right now Jim is a good deal more nervous than he’s letting on.

“Cadets! At attention!” snaps Chris. Both men jump. They are now officers but it’s all so new that it can be hard to remember at times.

“Now here’s how it’s going to go down,” says Chris. “You, Kirk, are going to shut the fuck up. You disobeyed a bunch of my orders. But the worst of it is that you stole my ship. I spent four years waiting for my baby, building her up from a set of blue-prints, and you made off with her right under my nose. Oh no, no objections.” He speaks over Jim’s attempts to protest. “Strip. Now!”

As Jim hastens to comply, tripping over his own jeans in his eagerness, Leonard casts a nervous glance at Phil, who is watching with amusement. “He’s still pouting about the ship,” Phil says softly. “Worse than a five-year-old who lost his favorite tinker toy.” They share an indulgent smile at the idiocies of commanders and Leonard lets himself relax a little. Maybe this won’t be too heavy after all.

A naked Jim is once again standing to attention in front of Chris. There is a faint blush of embarrassment down his pale chest but his slowly swelling cock is telling another story. “Turn round. Slowly,” orders Chris. Jim does so, with a wink for Leonard as he catches his eye. The boy does like showing off.

“Into the spare bedroom,” says Chris. Phil shows the way while Chris grabs his crutch and follows. They’ve clearly made plans. Chris's physiotherapy equipment has been pushed to one side. The floor is covered with mats taken from a gymnasium, which are in turn covered in quilts and pillows.

“Sit!” orders Chris, pointing Jim towards a straight-backed wooden chair. Jim complies, with a smirk for Leonard.

“Giving me the director’s chair, are you?” he says.

“You just keeping telling yourself that,” says Phil with a grin, as Chris tosses him a bundle of soft white ropes. In short order Jim’s ankles are tied to the outside of the chair legs, which has the effect of spreading his knees. His wrists are tied together behind the chair with his elbows secured to the sides. Leonard, who is torn between horror and arousal, watches as Jim surreptitiously tests the knots. They don’t seem to give in the slightest. Clearly the Surgeon-General knows what he’s doing. And where did he gain that knowledge, wonders Leonard.

“And you!” Leonard starts as Chris suddenly turns to him. “You’re just as infuriating as he is.” That strikes Leonard as a bit unfair. Jim Kirk is surely in a class all of his own. “I told you on the _Enterprise_ that I’d have words with you later. What the fuck did you think you were doing, smuggling a grounded cadet onto _my_ ship?”

Leonard swallows hard. A stony-faced Admiral Pike is a thoroughly daunting sight. “But it worked out--“ he protests.

“I do not give a flying fuck how it worked out,” Chris interrupts. “You disobeyed orders. _My_ orders. At attention, solider. Eyes front.” Leonard snaps into position, trembling with tension. Chris circles round behind him, the room silent except for thud of the crutch. Leonard is somewhat surprised that there is no back-chat from Jim but a glance tells him that Phil is standing behind the seated man and has stuffed one hand into Jim’s mouth while his other wanders over the bare chest, casually tweaking the nipples. Jim is sucking on Phil's fingers, wide-eyed.

“Eyes front, I said!” Leonard stares at the wall and hopes that the fine tremble up his spine is not obvious. Damn, but the man is intimidating. A voice whispers next to his ear, silky smooth. “And what do you think happens to disobedient little cadets? Hmm?”

Leonard is a grown man, experienced and mature, but he still finds it difficult to find his voice in this context. “Don’t know, sir.”

“They get put over the knee of the nearest Admiral and spanked. And we already know that you’re up for that, don’t we, cadet? Slutty little doctor that you are, sending dirty texts to your captain. Is this what you’re secretly hoping for every time you cheek your superiors?” Chris runs a hand down his chest and stomach and then squeezes firmly on his groin. Leonard is already half-hard just from the sound of Chris’s voice. He, like many cadets, may have had a fantasy or three about receiving a private chastisement from the handsome Commandant of Cadets but he’d never expected it to actually happen.

“Phil, strip him.” Having to stay at attention while the Surgeon-General unbuttons his shirt and peels it off his shoulders, unzips his pants and pulls them down over his hardening cock is one of the more mortifying things that has ever happened to him. It is also one of the most arousing.

“Can’t I get some action here?” whines Jim. “Somebody’s mouth on my dick would work.” His dick is indeed waving perkily in the air. Watching his lover being stripped for disciplining seems to inspire him. Leonard makes a mental note to dump Jim on the couch for the next week.

“Shut him up,” orders Chris as he sits down on a footstool that Phil has found. “On your knees, cadet, over my lap.” Leonard is crimson with embarrassment and can’t quite bring himself to move. Phil steps up behind him and puts a warm hand firmly on his abdomen. He speaks softly in Leonard’s ear. “Take a deep breath, Leonard. It’s not a scene. No means no, stop means stop.”

They are all watching him. He tries to think over the rush of blood in his ears. He’s about to become CMO of the flagship. He’s not fucking ready for it. He regularly wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, knowing he’s not ready. If he can’t bring himself to push past his fear, he’ll never be ready. He steps away from the warmth of Phil’s body and kneels next to Chris, not meeting the man’s eyes as he bends over his lap and presents his ass for a spanking he privately acknowledges he might deserve.

A hand runs gently over his backside. And then suddenly connects with a hard smack. He jumps. A second slap follows. He’d let Jocelyn spank him on occasion but it’s only now dawning on him that a combat-trained man might hit harder. A lot harder. The rhythm is punishing, and disconcerting in its unpredictability.

A muffled protest makes him peer across at Jim out of the corner of his eye. Phil is busy gagging Jim with a tie.

Oh god, they are so out of their depth.


	4. Looking in from the outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've taken his doctor away. Jim's not happy.

Jim shifts restlessly on the hard chair. The knots make sure that there isn’t much wriggle-room. And how the hell did the Surgeon-General get _this_ good at tying people up? What do they get up to in the medbay of deep space vessels? Which gets him thinking about what he and Bones may be able to get up to, which leads back to the annoying realization that he is up alright, up and quiveringly hopeful, but getting nothing more than a chilly breeze swirling round his aching cock, while Bones is getting the ride of his life. How the hell did _that_ happen?

The spanking had been disconcertingly inspirational. Bones had squirmed and cursed and flailed and Pike had just kept on smacking. Boyce had lounged on a chair, legs crossed at the ankles, watching as coolly as if reviewing a vid on inter-planetary health protocols. “Enough,” he’d said eventually. “Chris, you’ll give yourself repetitive strain syndrome and try explaining that to your doctor. There are other things you could be doing with that peachy ass.” He’d thrown Pike a tube of lube.

“You do it,” Pike had replied. “My hand needs a rest. I’ll work on shutting up that pouty mouth of his.

Jim had watched, tugging against the ropes, biting down on the damned gag, as Chris had lain back in a pile of pillows and guided Bones’ head into the open V of his legs. Boyce meanwhile had cheerfully stuck two lubed fingers up to the knuckle in that reddened ass, leaving Bones swearing forcefully.

“We’ve better things for you to do with that filthy mouth,” Pike had said, grabbing Bones firmly by the hair and impaling the younger man’s face on his cock. Boyce had moved smoothly in behind, spread the thick thighs, pushed one up to the side, and shoved in hard and deep. The movement had rocked Bones forward onto Pike’s cock and he’d let out a stifled groan of such wanton abandon that Jim could feel himself jerking, leaking precome.

He’d expected them to be on their knees, with Bones kneeling between them, and it takes him a moment to realize that Pike probably can’t stay on his knees for any period of time. The man still looks so much the same - so much the invulnerable commander - that it is a shock to remember that he isn’t. He never will be again. None of them will ever be the same again.

He drags his mind away from the thought, focusing back on Bones. Pike has one hand deep in Bones’ hair, controlling him, while with the other he strokes down the side of Boyce’s face. For all they have Bones’ between them, their eyes are all for each other. Jim wants that to be him and his doctor in thirty years time. But for that to work he’s got to keep both of them alive. What if he can’t do it?

No, stay in the moment, look at Bones. This is the vision he’d wanted, his beautiful Bones solidly plugged up at both ends, a delicious fuck-toy moaning his pleasure around a mouthful of one cock as he clenches around an assful of another. He’s so often wanted to shut up Bones like this himself. Everyone calls him chatty and cheeky, but do they not listen to his doctor? Surly, grumpy, growly, always short-tempered and often as cutting as a laser scalpel with his sarcasm. Jim hopes never to let on just how much Bones can hurt him with a few swift put-downs. He also hopes never to let on how much he’s come to rely on the other man.

He’d got through the drama of defeating the Narada on adrenaline and instinct. It had been the aftermath that had been hard - the slow trickle of news of how few had escaped the other ships, the vacant stares of the psyche-damaged Vulcans, the incredulity from everyone that _he_ was acting captain. And the challenge, day after day, of coaxing the crippled ship back towards Earth while keeping the crew disciplined, the morale less than suicidally low, and the injured and bereft tended to as best as they could. It had been Bones - with a roughly applied hypo, a gently given kiss, a cuff across the head, and a gruff promise of : “I’ve got your back, kid, now sort the rest of those fuckers out,” - that had kept him going hour after interminable hour.

And now they’ve taken Bones away from him… He pulls frantically against the ropes, suddenly desperate to get across to them. He’s spent a lifetime on the outside looking in. Walking home alone after school when other kids were being collected by their parents. Watching Sam take off with his older friends, tag-along younger brothers not invited. Staring through the chain-link fence of the Riverside shipyards at all the personnel of the mysterious Starfleet, that thing that had, in different ways, taken away both his parents.

He learnt that he could get other people to come to him if he played up - played up his courage, his cheek, his awesome. But it was never quite the same as being invited in. And when he woke up, hung-over and injured, whether in the wreckage of a bar or on the cold floor of a cell, his cohorts in anarchy always seemed to have mysteriously vanished. He was alone, again.

Pike invited him into Starfleet and, for all his insolence to the older man, he leapt at the chance. Bones invited him into his life and it was the grumpiest, least graceful invitation he’d ever received but he didn’t care. He’d die for Bones. But Pike has taken Bones, Boyce has taken Bones. They’ve shut him out, again….

He’s tugging so hard on the ropes he’s jerking the chair across the floor. Bones pulls off Pike’s cock, shakes his head free of the older man’s hand and turns to look at him. A level penetrating gaze from the green eyes that have always seen straight through his bullshit to his deepest secrets.

Bones turns his head to speak softly to Boyce who pulls out and rises easily to his feet, padding over to Jim. The gag is quickly released, with the ropes following soon after. Boyce kneels beside him to check his circulation, and then runs a warm hand up his thigh to rest on his abdomen. Jim hadn’t realized he’d begun to hyperventilate. Boyce pulls his head down and captures his mouth in a warm wet kiss. The man smells like Bones but feels different and it’s confusing. He strokes a hand through Jim’s sweat-damp hair. It’s an apology, fortunately a mute one. Jim couldn’t bear to hear the words.

Boyce guides him towards the chaos of quilts where Bones is lying with his head on Pike’s stomach, both men watching him. “So, time for the master to take over!” Jim quips, but his voice isn’t as steady as he’d like. He crawls up Bones’ body and buries his head against the other man’s neck. Pike spoons up behind him, a softly furred chest resting snugly against his back, a strong arm lying across him to rest on Bones’ shoulder. Phil is tucked up behind Bones and runs a hand gently up Jim’s flank.

Jim lies in the warm safe space in the middle of the pile. He’s ruining the mood, he knows it. He needs to say something witty, something cheeky. That’s what he’s known for, after all. But suddenly there is only one thing he wants to say - _needs_ to say.

He wriggles around so that he is spooned against Bones, and facing Pike. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“Sorry?” queries Pike.

“For taking the _Enterprise_.” He stops Pike’s automatic protest. “I wanted to serve on her, you know. I told you I’d finish in three years but I didn’t tell you the rest of the plan. I was going to be so awesome that I’d get posted straight onto the _Enterprise_ , onto the bridge crew if I possibly could. I had a whole fucking plan of how quickly I’d get to be first officer. I wanted to serve with you, I wanted to learn from you.” He stares across at Pike. “I know it’s a stupid thing to be upset about but--“

Boyce interrupts, warm hand set solidly on Jim’s abdomen. “Jim, just because the big tragedies of the last weeks have been unimaginably big, that doesn’t mean that the small ones aren’t equally real.”

Pike rests his face against the top of Jim’s head, kissing the spiky hair and then brushing it back to kiss him on the forehead. “You were on my crew list, Jim. I had so much I wanted to teach you, to show you.”

Finally Jim says in a very small voice: “I’m too young to be captain.” Another long pause. “I’m going to fuck it up. I’m going to get people killed.”

Bones starts to protest but Boyce quietly silences him, whispering in his ear: “This is captain shit, Leonard. They need to talk to each other. They’ll need each other in the months to come and they’ve got to get past the _Enterprise_ thing.

“Yes, you’ll get people killed,” says Pike bluntly. “That’s what being captain means. That doesn’t mean that you’re not going to be one of the finest captains Starfleet has ever seen.”

“Everyone throws my father in my face as what I have to live up to,” says Jim. “He was captain for ten whole minutes. What am I supposed to do in the eleventh minute, and the twelfth and all the ones after that? I’d die for my crew. That’s not so hard. How the fuck do I keep us all alive?”

“You don’t do it alone,” Pike replies, pulling Jim against his chest, rubbing his hand down the tensely-knotted back. “You’ll do it with your CMO and with your crew. You’ll do it with Phil and I backing you up back at HQ. You’ll do it with all the resources of Starfleet. If you weren’t frightened, then I’d be worried.”

Jim pushes up close to Pike, knowing there is no way he can hide the rapid breathing or the fine shivers from the other man. Pike simply holds him, continuing to stroke soothingly down his back. “I’m so tired,” whispers Jim eventually. It’s not just the voyage back or the debriefs or the press that have been exhausting.

He’s learning to run the _Enterprise_ no more than five minutes ahead of everyone that he has to lead and brief. And with his youth and his precipitous rise, he can’t just know enough, he has to know more. Each time he meets with engineers, with designers, with suppliers, with medical staff, with crew he needs to know their job better than they do just to stop them dismissing him out of hand. He has a prodigious memory and he’s better organized now than he’s ever been but even so he’s getting by on four hours sleep a night as he preps for yet another round of meetings.

Pike ruffles his hair. “Lightweight,” he teases. “Half an hour into an orgy and you can’t keep your eyes open. What are the younger generation coming to?”

Jim flashes him a cheeky grin. His confidence is seeping back. While his higher brain function remains a little wobbly, his baser instincts are all about naked skin and sexy times. His groin is telling him happy things about finally being able to rub along a furry thigh. “The younger generation would have a better chance of doing some _coming_ if the old codgers would talk less and fuck more.”

“You want to be fucked, Kirk?” challenges Pike.

Jim looks back into the ocean-blue eyes. They may never serve together on a ship but maybe they can have something else instead. “Yeah, old man, if you can keep it up long enough.”

“Fighting talk. Roll over. And your doctor could do with some loving after that spanking. Put that cock-sucking lips of yours to good use.”

Jim finds himself lying on his side, Pike up to the balls in his ass, rocking in a slow steady rhythm. He has his face buried between Bones’ legs, his mouth full of his lover’s ample cock, his senses filled with the scent of his man. Phil lies beside him, running warm steady hands along his flanks, tweaking his nipples, teasingly brushing over his cock.

“Phil, make him come,” orders Pike eventually, his voice breaking with his own impending orgasm. A firm hand twists authoritatively around his cock. Two deep voices talk to him: “Beautiful boy, so proud, captain, ours, come for us…”

And he spirals up into the white-heat of his climax, held as securely between the bodies of these three men as he is held in their hearts.


	5. Going space-crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's meant to be an orgy. How come Leonard's left hanging?

“Okay, so explain this to me. We start out with Jim tied down to a chair and me being worked over by not one but two handsome men. Half an hour later Jim’s curled up having a post-coital nap and I’m left hanging. How the hell did that happen?”

He and Phil look over to where Jim is curled up against Chris, making a soft snuffling snort as he sleeps with his face mashed against the older man’s chest. Chris had been stroking Jim’s hair but now he too seems to have slipped into sleep. This is feeling like another of Leonard’s many ‘fuck my life’ moments.

“That’s command types for you,” says Phil. “Wham, bam and then snoring their heads off before they even get to ‘thank you ma’am’. Welcome to the next five years of your life, McCoy.”

Leonard groans dramatically. Phil laughs and rolls over next to him, running a hand across his stomach, fingers combing through the treasure trail.

“About that--“ Leonard hesitates. “Admiral Komack cornered me this morning and gave me a long lecture about how I’m the responsible adult on board and they’re holding me accountable for keeping Jim and his team of teen geniuses under control.”

Phil looks up from his exploration of Leonard’s stomach. “That’s kind of true. Some of the brass were only prepared to accept Jim as captain with the guarantee of you as CMO.”

Leonard stares at him in horror. “ _Me_? Did any of them actually look at my file? At all those demerits for insubordination? Half of them issued by you, I might point out.”

“Well, you were as insolent as you were irritating half the time,” retorts Phil, pinching him hard on a nipple and then running a soothing tongue over the sting. “But to answer your question: no, because I slapped super-ultra-classified all over your file. For security reasons! Need to know basis and all that bullshit. Instead, I told them all about your stellar medical career, your great achievements at an early age, your steady character and responsible attitude.”

“So you lied, in other words.”

Phil nips at the soft skin at the base of his neck. “Not at all, I just told a carefully selected portion of truth. But we are looking to you to keep Jim in line. And that reminds me, I need to tell you about the secret code.”

Leonard frowns at him. Phil pulls away so he can look Leonard in the eye, although their legs remain intertwined.

“It’s the very last briefing a CMO receives before departure, from the Surgeon-General himself. It’s the code the CMO calls in when his captain’s gone bat-shit insane.”

“But you just stand him or her down. Medical Protocols Regulation 121, Section A,” says Leonard.

“Sure. If you can. But really good captains suck their crews into their delusions. You may find you can’t stand him down. You’re the one who gets called crazy, the one they want to lock up in a padded cabin. That’s when you send out the secret code.”

“Bullshit! That doesn’t happen.” Leonard hesitates. He’s seen quite a few things in the last few weeks that he would have said could never happen, with doppelganger Vulcans from alternate universes being the fucking cherry on top. “Does it happen?”

Phil regards him in all seriousness, his grave demeanor an odd contrast to his nakedness. “Oh yes it does. One minute your captain is no odder than the average commander. The next he’s decided the home planets of the Federation have been destroyed by a cybernetic race and your ship is the last survivor of the human race. He cuts off all communications so the crew can’t check. As CMO, you’ve got to get the code out before he shuts down the comms. Remember that!

“Then he’s having visions of writhing snakes which turn out to indicate an ancient prophecy about the exodus of humankind, foretelling that a dying leader - because of course he’s dying dramatically by this point - a dying leader will guide the remnants of humanity to the promised planet of the original Eden. And the ship sails off into the black and is never seen again.”

“You’re making this up,” accuses Leonard. “We never covered this kind of stuff as cadets.”

“Of course not,” replies Phil. “We’re not going to scare off the young and the idealistic by actually telling them how dreadful the black can be. You’ve no idea how much stuff we don’t tell you!”

“You’re not exactly helping with my aviophobia here,” interrupts Leonard.

Phil grins evilly. “Trust me. A ship in deep space - classic breeding ground for a cult. A charismatic, authoritarian leader in charge of a small group of people trapped in stressful dangerous circumstances, trained to obey orders, isolated from outside influence - recipe for disaster. Madmen can be very persuasive.”

Phil gestures across to where Jim lies curled up against Chris.

“And it’s the young cocky ones, the beautiful glib self-confident ones, that you need be most worried about. Any time Jim starts telling you there’s a computer chip in his head that manifests to him as a beautiful blonde woman and they’re going to have a hybrid baby that will be the first of God's new generation of children - send your secret code back to me as the highest priority!”

Phil grabs Leonard by the shoulders, holding him in place as he looks deep into his eyes. “Remember, McCoy, you are the last bastion between sanity and ship-wide deep-space madness.”

A deep voice breaks in. “Phil, stop teasing the children. Leonard, you do realize that he’s having you on?” says Chris.

“I am not,” says Phil. “There is actually a code for calling in your captain as insane. But most captains don’t normally go as far as declaring themselves to be the Hand of God.” He smiles at Chris who has untangled himself from the still sleeping Jim and crawled over to join them. “Now Chris here would’ve made a wonderful cult leader when he was young. You think Jim is pretty? Chris was sin incarnate, complete with the halo of golden hair. The prettiest baby captain ever. And he knew it, the bastard.” He ruffles a hand through Chris’s hair.

“I could still do it,” retorts Chris. “Might be more fun that being the Admiral that no one listens to because I’m too young. Fuck! It’s years since I’ve been considered _the new kid_. I’ll tell them Nero passed on the secret of existence from his universe. I’m the only survivor from the ship. No one can deny it. People are so confused right now they’d believe anything. I think I’d look great in a swami’s robe with acolytes prostrated at my feet.”

“Chris, don’t fucking joke about Nero. I hate it!” There’s an edge to Phil’s voice that threatens to puncture the light-hearted atmosphere.

“Why shouldn’t I?” challenges Chris. He shifts awkwardly on the quilts, as ever working around the reduced mobility on his left side, where the slug had made its temporary home. “It’s not as if _I’m_ ever going to be able to forget it.”

Leonard scrabbles for something to say to divert them. The last thing he wants is to be caught in the middle of some icy-edged not-a-fight between these two formidable men. Fortunately Jim comes to rescue, stretching luxuriously as he wakes from his nap. “Damn, I’m starving. Great sex always gives me the munchies. I feel like a sandwich. A Muffuletta would be perfect, loaded with cold cuts and cheese.”

“No fucking way,” protests Leonard. “Jim, you’re not going off to eat while I’m left hanging. I’m at an orgy and I’ve reduced to taking myself in hand? Just how incompetent are the rest of you?”

Phil is still glaring at Chris. “A sandwich. Now there’s a good idea. Admiral Grouchy here can damn well roll over and make himself useful, since he’s come already. Prep yourself.” He throws the tube of lube at the other man. Chris seems to have decided that retreat is the better part of valor and silently does as he’s told. The sight of the strong fingers that had so recently been slamming down on Leonard’s ass now sliding slickly into Chris’s own, is enough to bring the doctor back to full hardness.

“Leonard, you’re going to climb aboard there and then I’m going to fuck both of you.” Chris seems about to say something but Phil ignores him. “I’m the ranking officer here and the rest of you can do as you’re damned well told!”

“Sir, yes sir!” Jim salutes smartly, the effect rather undermined by his other hand which is lazily working his cock back to life.

Leonard is slightly concerned about being trapped between these men and their issues, but the sight of Chris rolling onto his stomach, legs spread, presenting his ass, completely derails his thought process. He mounts the other man, luxuriating in the feel of the tight velvet passage squeezing around his long-neglected cock. At long last he’s going to get some!

Phil holds him steady with one hand and then shoves straight in without further prep. Leonard is loose enough to take it but his tender ass burns around the sudden intrusion, his cheeks still smarting from the spanking. He bites down on Chris’s shoulder to keep himself from crying out. He has his hands on the bed on either side of Chris’s shoulders. Chris moves his hands to twist their fingers together. Leonard drops a kiss of apology over the bite mark. Chris squeezes his hands gently.

Phil is clearly in charge, slamming into Leonard and in the process driving him deeper into Chris’s tight channel. Phil’s chest hair tickles his back while Chris’s silky skin warms his stomach. He licks messily at the sweat on the back of Chris’s neck. Jim lies to one side, legs sprawled open, working his own cock while offering obnoxious commentary.

It’s not the life Leonard expected when he enlisted in Starfleet. It certainly hadn’t been in the recruiting brochure. But right now he can’t exactly bring himself to object.


	6. Time to let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Chris surrounded by pretty youths isn't making Phil feel any younger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awesome almost-last line about the epitaphs comes from the ingenious sayfray.

Phil stands at the door of the room, looking at the puppy pile on the quilts. Chris has managed to collapse in the middle and now has a pretty young thing curled up on each shoulder. And they are so young, Phil thinks, with their firm smooth skin. Chris lies between them, his age obvious in the grey of his hair and the lines on his face, but his vitality shines out of every laugh line.

Jim is whining that their inspirational sandwich has put him back in the mood and someone should take care of little Jimmy. Leonard is ribbing him about how ‘little’ little Jimmy may or may not be. Chris is telling them that they bicker like an old married couple and that they’d best remember not to it on the bridge. Jim wants to know if they can do ‘it’ on the bridge and has Chris ever and if so does he have any tips. Everyone is laughing.

Phil turns away to go to the kitchen, sent off in search of drink and snacks to quell Jim’s munchies. He catches a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. He’s not an insecure man. He knows he looks good for his age. But it’s having to add _for his age_ that is depressing. He stops by the bedroom to grab his robe, a tatty red velvet affair that has followed him all over the sector. It is a little threadbare itself but it serves to cover up the saggy bits and the wrinkles.

The two youngsters are at the start of what will undoubtedly be stellar careers. Chris, for all his complaining that no one listens to the newest Admiral, has just finished one career in a blaze of glory and insane courage, and is now embarking on another that will doubtless be equally impressive. In this time of upheaval, his confidence and independence of thought will be valued. Phil has no doubt that he’ll end up as Commander in Chief of Starfleet if he stays the course. If he switches into politics, Phil wouldn’t bet against him making President of the Federation. And then there’s him, stuck as Surgeon General. Clearly it is an important job. His mother is proud. But most of it is paperwork and protocols, and all of it is deeply mired in Starfleet politics.

“Hey, did you get lost in the hallway? Where’s the grub?” Jim pokes a smiling face into the kitchen and then starts scrabbling around in the cupboards. “I’m not getting anywhere with getting sex out of those two lazy bastards so I may as well eat instead.” Phil watches him as he accumulates a pile of olives, nuts, crisps and other assorted nibbles. His beautiful creamy skin, tinted gold where the sun catches his forearms and neck, is as smooth as a virgin canvas. The muscles of his combat-trained body flex easily as he moves around the room. Phil doesn’t envy him the uncertainty of youth but he does envy the sense of unlimited possibility.

Phil knows why they put such effort into the care and feeding of this fledging captain. Jim and those are stand by him are the future of the Federation. But Phil is more than a little disheartened at feeling so much like the past. What on earth made him think that an orgy with these two young stallions was a good idea?

“Are you coming?” asks Jim, standing in the door with his tray of goodies, as unabashed in his nakedness as an Olympic athlete from ancient Greece.

“In a minute,” says Phil. He pours himself a glass of wine and stares at it moodily, reluctant to rejoin the others. He is sufficiently self-aware to know what is really worrying him. Chris looks so comfortable with the two youngsters. And he is clearly getting tired of Phil’s nannying. More and more they fight over Chris’s need to confront his trauma where Phil still wants to protect him from it. Phil knows he needs to back off. He needs to let Chris go. Except that this time he’s made a vital mistake.

When he was younger he’d never wanted a permanent partner. He’d been too focused on his medical work, rejecting any ties that might prevent him from being posted wherever his expertise was most needed. As the _Yorktown_ ’s CMO he’d watched Chris’s entanglements with various diplomats and alien potentates with amusement, providing a shoulder to bitch on and drinks when required, occasionally a warm bed and helpful hand too, but he’d not let his heart loose. Chris’s first love was a lady called the _Yorktown_ and everyone on board knew it.

When Chris was posted to the Academy and he’d just been promoted to Surgeon General they’d spent a lot of time together, each using the other as their lighting rod to ground their frustration and uncertainty, each trusting the other not to spread their secrets. Although with age Phil was beginning to think that it might be nice to have someone to come home to each night, he’d known Chris was not suitable. Chris was starting a new affair, this time with the _Enterprise_ , and he’d soon be off in deep space once again.

But then the universe trembled and scores of his friends and colleagues were dead and Chris’s nervous system was being eaten alive and even if it was all he could do, Phil was going to save one thing in the chaos, and that thing was Chris. In the process he’d forgotten to guard his heart. Now Chris - who clearly had no problem in attracting younger lovers - was pulling away from him again, and Phil - he was well and truly screwed, and not in the good way.

“How come you’re alone in here?” asks Leonard, on his way back from the bathroom. Another beautiful young body, thinks Phil with resignation, and a body still in daily use at the cutting edge of medicine. Being Surgeon General is a long way from the life-affirming immediacy and importance of being a doctor. Some days he feels irrelevant, even pointless. If he’s ever finally smothered by the weight of his paperwork, he’s not sure anyone will notice.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” he says. Leonard gives him one of those penetrating stares of his, and then goes back into the other room. When Chris limps into the kitchen a few minutes later, Phil realizes he’s been rumbled.

Chris leans against the kitchen counter next to him, helps himself to Phil’s glass of wine and downs it. “Damn, it’s good to be able to drink alcohol again,” he says. Phil grunts.

“While I was Nero’s guest I had quite a bit of time to think about what I was about to lose,” Chris says. Phil bites down on the urge to object to the Nero thing, yet again. “And while I was in hospital recovering I had yet more time to think about what I wanted to do with this new life I’d not expected to have. Do you know what conclusion I reached?”

Phil shrugs. He doubts the conclusion will be in his favor. He suspects he’s being played with and he doesn’t like it.

“I decided I hate this staff apartment. If I’m at headquarters for good, I want to buy my own house. So how about it?” He turns to face Phil. “Do you want to buy a house with me?”

Phil gapes at him. “I still care about my career,” continues Chris. “But it’s not everything to me any longer. I’ve given Starfleet my pound of flesh. I’ve spent enough time pursuing the black, giving my heart to my ships. Ships don’t sit by your hospital bed night after night. Ships don’t coax you out of your nightmares, put up with your moods, and provide pretty boys for kinky sex.” Chris grabs Phil’s hand in his own, and intertwines their fingers. “I’m ready to have a home to come back to and someone to share it with. So, what do you say?”

Phil, at a loss for words, settles on kissing him instead. There is none of the haste of their youth. This is a slow, sensual exploration of territory both of them know so well but still want to savor. Chris slides his arms round Phil’s waist. “Why are you hiding your beautiful assets in this tatty robe? Have I told you that I hate this robe? Get it off!” Chris tugs down the offending garment.

“You’re such a pushy bastard, Chrissie,” says Phil, his face pressed against Chris’s temple.

“Chrissie?” exclaims Jim. “We can call you Chr--“

“You most certainly cannot,” cuts in Chris. “It takes thirty years of service to earn that right.”

Phil looks up to find Jim leaning against the doorframe, Leonard behind him with his arm wrapped round Jim’s waist, his chin resting on Jim’s shoulder. Phil gives Leonard a glare of doom. Leonard grins back, quite unrepentant.

“So the party’s in the kitchen, is it?” says Jim. “Even orgies end up in the kitchen. Who knew?” He grabs another bottle of wine and fills four glasses. “A toast! To the hottest foursome ever to prowl the halls of Starfleet.” They laugh and drink.

“To absent friends,” offers Leonard. They drink again in a more somber mood.

“To survivors, kept going by the love and strength of our friends,” says Chris, clinking his glass against Phil’s.

“To our boys, about to boldly go where no man has gone before,” says Phil, saluting Jim and Leonard with his glass.

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow,” says Jim. “Right now the night is young, there’s plenty of wine, little Jimmy’s back in the mood--“

“Are we surprised?” mutters Leonard under his breath.

“Silence from the peanut gallery. As I was saying, little Jimmy’s back in the mood, Starfleet’s four hottest officers are ready and willing. May I suggest that right now we boldly go back to bed.”

So they did.

* * *

Much, much later they lie in a tangled heap, Jim’s face pushed into Leonard’s armpit, Chris spooned around Phil, Phil’s hand on Jim’s shoulder. The room is silent except for the occasional soft snore.

“See, Bones. I told you this would be awesome.”

Leonard snorts. “One day, kid, I will be lying six feet under and my epitaph will read: _Jim, I told you this was a bad idea!_ Next to me will lie one James T. Kirk and his epitaph will read: _That was awesome!_ "

“Together ‘til death do us part. Under the grump you’re such a softy, Bones. But yeah, works for me!” Jim snuggles down against him and goes back to sleep, leaving a startled Leonard staring into the darkness. He’s thinking that it works for him too.

\- THE END !!! -


End file.
